


the truth can’t hurt us now

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Lumberjack AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in the future of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4569570/chapters/10405941">love is a ghost you can't control</a>, grant and his eldest daughter go for a walk in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the truth can’t hurt us now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catteo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [love is a ghost you can't control](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569570) by [catteo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo). 



> so a huge thanks to the wonderful [catteo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo) for letting me write a fic of her work. the fic is linked in multiple places here, so read it and weep before you jump to the future! there are no spoilers for any major reveals in cat's fic, though, so read happy! love u cat <3 this is an ao3 exclusive.

He’s been replaced.

Skye, despite claiming once that she ‘wasn’t really a dog person,’ has cuddled up with her favorite dog in Grant’s absence. Scooter is Skye’s baby, her precious little mutt, and he’s wrapped under her arm as she snores away.

Scooter must’ve heard Grant get out of bed to shower. Clever pup. Grant could never pick a favorite out of their three dogs, but the two of them together are something he’s going to lock in his heart forever.

He feels that way a lot, actually. Like he’s taking memories as polaroids, and putting them away. Pressing flowers next to them, and writing notes.

Someone’s at his bedroom door. A pair of wide, brown eyes staring up at him. “Is Mommy up?”

“Not yet, baby,” he says, moving to rub her head of dark hair. It’s mostly fallen out of the braid Skye put it in last night. So much of it for a three year old, he thinks. He doesn’t really remember if he had that much at her age.

Skye does make frequent comments on his beard, though. So maybe it’s just in their genes.

And he especially likes thinking about that, the idea that Briar is part him. That she has his eyes and his hair and his smile, sometimes. Sometimes she’s all her mother.

She’s perfect.

“You want to check on your sister?” Grant asks.

Briar nods. “Was she loud last night?”

“Babies usually are,” Grant tells her, as they pad down the hall. Buddy Jr. has joined their brigade, coming out of Briar’s room with his tail wagging. “You barely ever slept through the night when you were her age.”

“But,” Briar says. “I was a perfect baby. You said!”

“So’s Amie,” Grant reminds her. “You love your sister!”

“Duh,” Briar says.

She’s Skye’s daughter, alright.

 

 

The name on the door reads _Amaranth_ , just a little ways down the hall from Briar’s room. Briar gets the further bedroom from his and Skye’s, now that she’s old enough to get up and pee by herself at night.

Grant built her big-girl bed himself. He’s very proud.

“Remember,” Grant whispers. “Be very quiet.”

Briar motions that she is zipping her mouth shut. It’s adorable.

Grant grins down at her. “You’re such a good big sister.”

Amie’s still sleeping, her little chest rising and falling with each tiny breath. She’s got her arms spread out, hands wiggling as she dreams.

“She’s so small,” Briar whispers. “Was I that small?”

“You were smaller,” Grant says. “Hard to believe, right?”

Briar shakes her head. “I was never that small.”

He double-checks Amie’s baby monitor before leading his little pack out of her room.

“Everyone starts out that small,” Grant says. “Even me.”

With a gentle gasp, Briar looks up at him. Like she’s studying him wholly. “But you’re so big!”

“And one day, you’re gonna be, too. Even Dog was a tiny puppy, once.”

“That’s so weird,” Briar says. “I wanna be big right now!”

Grant smiles. “Why? You’re the perfect size!”

“But if I was big, I could go hunting with you,” Briar says. “You said I can’t ‘cause I’m too little!”

“That is true,” Grant says. “But now you have something to look forward to.”

She gives him one of her curious faces, when she almost understands him but not quite. She will in time, he knows that. He’s often taken aback by how remarkably bright she is.

 

 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, as she takes his sleeve.

“Not really,” she says. “Can we go outside?”

He checks the grounds from the kitchen window, Briar at his side. It’s snowed, but not hard enough to create anything more than a light dusting. The lake’s frozen over this morning, so the swans have settled by the bank in a huddle of white feathers.

“Look!” Briar says. “See? The swans are waiting for me!”

Grant chuckles. It’s kind of a remarkable thing. Swans are usually a nasty sort, and he can remember quite a few times they’ve interrupted himself and Skye down by the lake. But those damn birds love his daughter. 

She’s a regular princess, he supposes. 

“If you go put on your warm pajamas and come back, I’ll help with your coat and boots and you can go outside with me.”

She beams, clapping her hands together. “I’ll be super fast!” she tells him, bolting back down the hallway.

“Be careful!” he says, though he’s not sure she’ll hear.

He takes a moment to feel the stillness that floods back in. He scratches Buddy Jr. behind the ear, taking in the lake.

It’s not very still here, anymore. Rarely even in the mornings. Briar likes to wake up with him, help him start the day. 

There’s a part of him that knows she’ll outgrow it. One day, she’ll want to sleep in and she won’t help him feed the swans. She won’t ask to go hunting with the same sort of stubborn insistence that she does every morning. By the time she’s old enough to go, she might not even want to anymore.

Not that he could blame her. Right now, this is her whole world. But she’s getting bigger. She’s already three. She should be in pre-K next year, and kindergarden the next.

And they live so far up north. She needs to go to school, or at least be properly homeschooled. But who’s going to teach her? He’s got nothing valuable to show her, and he doubts Skye will want to.

She’s going to have to go off to school, and realize other little girls don’t live in the woods. 

She’s going to think they’re weird. She’s going to see other kids with married parents, and she’ll feel too different. She’ll be scared and he won’t be able to protect her-

 

 

“Daddy!” 

He takes a deep breath. “All set, Bri?”

“Yep!” She’s pulled on her thermals, and put her pajamas back on over that. Her Sleeping Beauty nightgown really compliments the look.

He can’t help but laugh. “You don’t need the nightgown, sweetie.”

She looks down. “Right!” Like any three year old, she pulls it over her head and tosses it to the ground. He should remind her to pick it up, but he’ll just do it for her later. “Now I’m ready!”

“Yes you are,” he says. He crouches down to her level. “C’mere.”

She’s all too happy to fling herself into his hold, and wrap her tiny arms around his neck. She kisses him on the nose. “I love you!” she tells him.

“I love you, too.”

“C’mon!” she says, tugging on his ear. “Coat! Boots! Outside!”

“Yes, yes,” he stands back up, moving to the hall tree. “Go wake up Dog.”

She strokes a still-sleeping Dog with her little hands. “C’mon, Doggie,” she says. “Time to get up!”

“Be gentle,” Grant says. “You know he’s old.”

Dog gives Grant one of those looks as he wakes up. The “why on earth did you bring in another two dogs, a girl, and two small humans up here?” look. Dog’s kind of a solitary guy. But he’d also or chase a bobcat away from Skye or Briar, if need be. And Grant knows that sometimes Dog sleeps under Amie’s crib.

He’s onto that old Dog.

“Morning, you old goat,” Grant says, as Dog lumbers off the couch. “Sweet dreams?”

Dog yawns, which, as always, makes Briar laugh.

“He’s silly,” she says. “And grumpy.”

“He’s not so bad,” Grant says, helping her with her scarf. He pulls on her coat, and ties her hat under her chin.

“Mittens?” she asks.

“Yep,” Grant says, putting her first boot on her tiny foot. “Put ‘em on.”

Her mittens are paws, and she makes little growling sounds every time she puts them on. They match her hat, which has tiny brown ears. “I’m a bear!” she declares.

Grant kisses her forehead. “Yes you are.”

She makes claws with her fingers. “Grr!”

“Don’t be too scary!” Grant says. “You’ll frighten all the animals in the forest!”

She gets wide-eyed. “Right!” she says. “Sorry!”

He tugs at one of her bear-ears. “My little bear.”

“I’m the best bear.”

He pulls on his own coat, though the cold’s never really bothered him. It’s more that he doesn’t want Briar to get any ideas about not being properly bundled. She’s learning too much from his example, he thinks. And he doesn’t want her to be like him.

He wants her to be happier from the get go, at the very least. Proud of herself. Able to smile without someone’s help.

“Come on, hold my hand,” he says. Grabs the stale bread they keep bagged by the door, for just this occasion. “Let’s go see the swans.”

She puts her mitten-paw in his hand. It fits right in his palm.

 

 

“Hi swans!” she yells, bounding down the hill. “Swans!”

The one Grant has come to know as Mother Swan pokes her head out from the huddle. 

“Hi!” Briar repeats, even louder. Grant lets her run, so long as she holds his hand. The grass is thankfully without ice, so there’s no fear of her slipping. 

Mother Swan untucks herself from the group, rustling her feathers into place.

He can hear Briar laughing, though he tugs her to a stop as they get closer. Sure, the swans like his daughter enough. But they’re still rather nasty birds, and he’d rather they not meet on the pond’s edge. The last thing he needs is Briar getting dragged into ice water.

Because if that happened, this property would become swan-free pretty damn quickly.

“Sweetie, you’ve got to let her come to you,” Grant says, sensing Briar’s desire to keep running. “She’s still a wild animal.”

“But she likes me!” Briar insists.

“I know,” Grant says. “But swans don’t like people the same way dogs do. They can get angry for no reason, sometimes.”

“But...” Briar says. “Why would she get mad?”

“All kinds of reasons,” Grant says. “Most of them wouldn’t even be your fault! But that’s why you always have to be careful.”

Briar looks up at him for a moment.She has such tiny puffs of breath. Her eyes are wet from the cold, and he thinks she might protest- She is her mother’s daughter, after all.

“Okay. I trust you,” she says, with an astuteness that nearly winds him. It’s a string of words that she might’ve heard on the old TV they’ve got. Something might’ve just pieced together, but not fully understand. She says it and means it, in the way a child means everything to be the utmost truth.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. She’s his daughter, his precious baby girl. He’s given her no real reason not to love him, aside from his inherent self. And maybe it’s not so inherent, if she’s always so kind.

“Daddy?”

“I’m...” He sucks in a breath. “I love you so much, Briar. You know that, right?”

She beams. Nods. “You love me the mostest!”

“You and your sister,” he says. “I love you more than the whole world.”

“What about me and Amie and mom?” Briar asks.

“More than the whole sun,” Grant says.

Briar giggles. “Because the sun is bigger!”

“You remember!” he says. She’s a sponge, his Briar. Smartest girl in the world.

“Yep!”

“And look,” he says, reaching into the bread bag. He hands her a decent sized piece, and she takes it happily. “Mother Swan’s come to see you. Remember what I told you.”

Briar nods. “Yes,” she says, very seriously.

“Good,” Grant says. “Throw her some bread.”

 

 

Briar releases Grant’s hand so that she can rip the bread into smaller pieces; her efforts are usually somewhat in vain, and her pieces are always uneven. Mother Swan has never minded.

Buddy Jr sniffs at the bread bag, which earns him a look. “Not for you,” Grant says. “You know that.”

He gets the saddest, most earnest stare in return.

A beat.

“Fine,” Grant says. “One slice.”

Buddy Jr happily takes the stale bread from Grant’s hand, tail wagging. 

“Dog?” Grant asks. “You want a piece?”

The old guy spares Grant a glance, then returns his attention to Briar. He’s a protective one, that Dog. And like Grant, he’s not terribly fond of swans.

“Daddy, look!” Briar says, tugging on his jacket. “She’s happy!”

They watch Mother Swam gobble down her bread, Briar giddily rocking on her heels.

“She likes it,” Briar whispers.

“She always does,” Grant whispers back.

Briar grins up at him. “More bread?”

Grant glances down at the bag. “We can’t spoil her,” he says. “She’ll get greedy.”

“But I want her to be happy!” Briar insists. “She likes bread!”

“And she’ll like it just as much tomorrow morning,” Grant tells her. He takes her hand again. It’s a flood of relief, despite the fact that she’s a foot away in their own backyard. He hopes one day, he’ll be better about this. He doubts it. “Do you want to go see if I can find any berries?”

She studies Mother Swan for another moment, and Mother Swan stares back. Grant tightens his grip on Briar’s hand without meaning to, and she laughs. “Daddy!”

“What?”

“You’re such a scaredy-cat,” she tells him. “We’re jus’ talking!”

He blinks. He looks at his daughter. At Mother Swan. Back to Briar. “I’m a scaredy-cat?”

“You’re always so scared of stuff!” she says. “But I’ll protect you!”

He doesn’t quite have the words to explain it to her. Because in a sense, she’s right. He is utterly terrified every moment of every day that something will happen, and she will get hurt. He’s petrified. Amie has her crib, right now, and can’t move much on her own. But what about when she’s this size? And he has two little girls to protect? And Skye?

He’s always scared. She’s right.

But it doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.

He scoops her up into his arms, and kisses her on the nose. “I’m glad I have you,” he says. “My brave little bear.” 

She paws at his cheek and mock-growls. 

It’s Skye’s fire, he thinks. Skye’s spirit. That she stares life right in the eye, instead of looking for another way around. “Special treat,” he says. “I’m gonna show you something.”

She gasps in amazement. “What?”

“You have to wait and see,” he says. 

 

 

He’s a worrier. He was before. He is now.

They don’t exactly live in a child safe environment. Which, in all fairness, had never been meant for children to begin with.

Smarter parents would’ve moved. Maybe he and Skye are too stubborn. Maybe it’s not a maybe at all.

They’re not Thomas and Kara. They’re not suburban. They’re not normal.

But aren’t they putting their daughters in danger?

He doesn’t like to think of it. He can’t, or it will keep him up at night (and it has).

She’ll eat the wrong thing and go into shock. She’ll get drowned by a swan. A bear will, for the first time ever, wander onto his property.

There are bobcats to be wary of. Floods. Brushfires. His guns, which he keeps on the opposite side of the house from the ammo, locked on a shelf so high even Skye can’t reach. Where they’ve been ever since she announced she was pregnant. The first time. The Briar time.

She’s so small. And all those nights he’d slept by her crib, vowing to protect her- What good are they if she one day just decides to eat the wrong plant?

“Daddy,” Briar says, grabbing his nose. “Daddy!”

“Sorry,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Sorry, Bri. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

He blinks. “You.”

She grins. “Me?”

He notices it in little moments. How much she looks like her mother. “Just how happy I am to have you.”

“Cause I’m the best!”

He nods. “Yep!”

“And the cutest!”

“You are.”

“And you love me the mostest!” 

“You and Amie,” he says. “My baby girls.”

“What’s my surprise?” she asks. 

“Can’t tell you,” he says. And it’s a welcome change in the conversation. A relief. She always knows how to make him feel better, that Briar.

“Why not?”

“Because then it’s not a surprise!”

“I wanna know!”

He raises his eyebrows. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Really, really, want to know?”

She grows more eager by the second. “Yes!!!!”

“How badly?”

“A LOT!” she yells. “TELL ME!”

“If I tell you,” he says, stepping over a few stray branches. “You have to be very, very quiet.”

“Like with Amie?”

“Exactly like that.”

As she did earlier, she mimes zipping her lips.

“That’s my girl.”

He ducks his head under low hanging branches, clutching Briar more tightly to his chest. “And when you see your surprise,” he says. “You can’t yell. Okay?”

She gives a firm nod.

 

 

“So Bri,” Grant says. “Have you ever met the deer?”

A tiny gasp, before Briar claps her hand over her mouth. She shakes her head.

“Okay well,” Grant says. “Since we’re not hunting, this is as close as we can get. But I thought you might want to see something special.”

He’s an exceptionally quiet person, is the thing. And Briar, though practically buzzing with excitement, stays quiet as a mouse.

They’re not very close to the deer. They can’t be, for risk of scaring them off. Or worse, making the buck angry enough to charge.

Dog stays safely at his heels, with Buddy Jr not far behind. The picture of winter, all four of them.

“So,” he whispers. “We have to stay here, nice and far away. This is their home, and it’s rude to go into someone’s home without an invitation, right sweetie?”

She nods.

“Do you see the buck?” Grant gestures in his direction. “Hard to miss. He’s got those big antlers.”

More tiny puffs of breath from Briar. He thinks she might be enraptured. It’s a beautiful sight. The meadows just frosted over, and the white tails are mostly grouped together, save for one trying to graze. They gather by the trees that lead to the deeper parts of the woods, where he’ll take Briar one day when she’s older.

“But,” Briar says, so softly he thinks he imagined it. “If he’s you, where’s Mommy?”

Grant blinks. “You think he’s me?”

“Yes,” Briar says. “He’s the daddy, because he’s big and strong and has antlers.”

“I don’t have antlers, Briar.”

“He needs a mommy,” Briar says. “So that he’s happy.”

Grant blinks. His own breath comes in a steady cloud, as he weighs the statement.

He can’t explain deer mating patterns to a child. That would be stupid.

So he points to the doe that’s grazing. “Her,” Grant says. “That’s the mommy.”

“Really?” Briar asks.

“Yep!” Grant says. “I know these deer pretty well, Briar. They’re the daddy and the mommy, and those two-” he gestures to the other deer. “Are their little ones.”

“Aw,” Briar says.

Nailed it, Grant Douglas.

For a moment, he allows himself to consider this a victory. That he has made Briar happy. That he has shown her something beautiful, and hopefully she will remember it.

“Just remember,” Grant says. “Never come this far out with me, okay? Not until you’re much older.”

She doesn’t respond. Grant’s not sure if she’s heard him, or if she’s simply not going to bother saying anything at all. 

It doesn’t matter. He’ll keep her safe and warm for as long as she needs.

The doe lifts her head, just for a moment.

Grant’s not sure if she’s heard them, if she’s done grazing, if she simply decided to stretch her neck.

But for a moment, she meets his gaze.

It’s a perfect moment of stillness. Briar seems to be in some sort of lull, and he completely understands. It’s peaceful. It’s quiet. It kind of feels like they’re living inside a snow globe.

“I think she likes you,” Briar whispers.

Grant blinks, and shakes his head. The doe, seeing him move, scatters back into the woods.

“We should go see if your mom is up,” Grant says. “Get breakfast going.”

“I’m hungry,” Briar says, decidedly.

They come back the way they came, making their way towards the house. 

“Me too,” he says. “Do you want oatmeal?”

“Yes!” she says, albeit a bit too loudly. Above them, a group of sparrows scatter.

Grant chuckles to himself. “Whatever you want, princess.”

“I want oatmeal,” she tells him.

He kisses the top of her head.

 

 

Skye is up and about in the kitchen when they return, shuffling about in her fluffy robe.

Grant puts Briar down, and she barrels for Skye without even taking off her boots. “Mommy!” she yells. “Mommy! You’re up!”

Skye grins, that same tender smile that makes Grant’s throat tight every time he sees it. “Be gentle with me,” Skye says. “Mommy’s not feeling too hot.”

Briar stops just short of Skye’s legs. Gingerly approaches, wrapping her arms around Skye’s waist. “What’s wrong?”

Skye pulls off Briar’s hat, lays it on the countertop. Gives Grant a glance. “I was sick when I woke up.”

“Oh,” Briar says, looking up. “You made sick?”

Grant swallows the lump in this throat.

“Not too much, sweetie,” Skye says, stroking Briar’s hair. “I’m okay. Just feeling kind of icky.”

“Daddy’s gonna make oatmeal,” Briar says. “That’ll help!”

“I’m sure it will,” Skye says. “Why don’t you go take your coat and boots off, and then you can tell me all about your adventures with Dad?”

A firm nod from Briar.

Grant’s grateful, in this particular moment, that she’s so young. She doesn’t notice the way Skye and Grant are looking at each other. Or the way Grant steps out of his boots. The way he clears his throat.

Briar just hums to herself, and pulls off her shoes.

Grant helps her hang up her coat. “Why don’t you go play in your room for a minute?” he says. “I need to talk to Mommy.”

“But-” Briar blinks. “I wanna talk to her.”

“I just need five minutes,” Grant says. “I’ll set a timer and everything.”

“You promise?” Briar says.

“I pinky swear,” he says. He offers her his pinky, and she gladly links her tiny finger with his much larger one.

“Okay,” she says, still slightly wary. “But you hafta set the timer!”

“I will,” he says. He sets it while she watches. “See? Five minutes.”

With one last look, Briar heads back to her room.

“Go with her,” Grant says, and Buddy Jr. quickly darts into the hall.

Skye watches. She doesn’t stop him, or protest. She just... lets him act.

So that’s certainly a sign of something.

“Did you eat something bad last night?” he asks. And he gets the feeling he should touch her, that itch under his skin that tells him to pull her into his arms.

“No, I don’t think so,” Skye says. He presses against her back. Wraps his arms around her waist. She tucks herself against him, resting under his chin. “If I had, I’d have been sick last night. Not this morning.”

“Are you-” He hesitates. “Are you... late?”

She strokes his hand. “Grant-”

“Are you pregnant again?”

He feels her shift. Tilt her head up. “Are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I think I am.”

 

 

Something gives him pause. More than the announcement, or the way she moves in his hold. Something other than her lips against his jaw, her fingers tugging on his hair. “Grant.”

“Are you... you’re not actually scared I’d be mad, right?”

She tilts her head. “No. I mean, I guess maybe I’m just kind of pissed at myself, because we just had one and this is so unexpected and like-”

“Don’t be upset,” he says, cupping her cheeks. “Please, Skye. I don’t- I would never be mad at you for something like this. Never.”

“We should’ve used more condoms, probably,” she says, and she finally holds his gaze. “I just want to jump you all the time, and they’re not always on hand, so-”

“God,” he mumbles, leaning in for a kiss. “When you put it like that-”

She’s just a breath away from his lips. “I just- I figured we’d plan at least one of them.”

“So we’re doing this,” he asks. She brushes against his bottom lip. “Baby number three.”

“You need to get fixed, mister,” she teases. “I can’t control myself, and I think three’s a limit.”

His hand tangles in her hair, but he thinks she kisses him first. 

It’s the kind of kiss that leads to babies being made. It’s the kind where he has to lean against the counter, for fear of going weak in the knees. “Skye-”

“We have a lot to talk about,” she says, softly. Nips at his mouth. “A lot.”

“Briar needs to go to pre-K.”

A peck. “Mm-hm.”

“And you just had a baby, so we have to make sure this is a healthy pregnancy.”

“Yep.”

“And I absolutely have to-” He wrinkles his nose. “How did you put it? Get fixed?”

“I’ll find you a good vet,” she says.

He laughs. He laughs because there is nothing else to do, nothing else that can be done in this exact moment.

He loves Skye. And she is brilliant, and beautiful, and _funny._

She grins. “Love you too, babe.”

 

 

The timer goes off, even though it hasn’t felt at all like five minutes.

Even so, Briar comes bounding back into the kitchen, having changed back into her princess nightgown. Skye must’ve put it back in her room, while they were out.

Grant kisses her quickly, a peck on her soft lips.

“What’s that for?” Skye whispers.

“No reason,” Grant says back.

“Okay,” Briar says, spreading her arms. “My turn with mommy.”

“Yep,” Grant says. “Fair’s fair.”

Skye scoops her daughter up into her arms, kissing her on the forehead. “Hi, baby,” Skye says. “Your braid came out.”

“Oops,” Briar says, shrugging. She doesn’t seem to really mind.

Skye grins. “How was the great outdoors this morning?”

Briar launches into a story about swans, which is when Grant notices he’s got three dogs staring at him, waiting for breakfast.

“What?” Grant asks.

Scooter gives an insistent whine.

Grant rolls his eyes. “You’re such a mama’s boy, Scooter.”

“Hey!” Skye interrupts. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m the best.”

“You are,” Briar says, squeezing Skye’s neck in a hug. “You’re the best, mommy.”

“Love... you...” Skye manages, and Briar thankfully releases her without realizing anything wrong.

Briar grins. “Anyway, Daddy says swans are meanies, but I don’t think so, I really like swans, they’re white and fluffy and-”

For a moment, Skye and Grant lock eyes.

She winks, and Grant feels flush for reasons he can’t properly express.

“Come on, guys,” he says, to no one in particular. “Breakfast.”  



End file.
